the bottle's like a violin,
screaming demons in my stomach,
a cyborg forging information as lunch,
purging an urge for self-destruction,
my outer shell's cold but the circuits a storm,
of electrical database lifespan into megabytes of ****,
see death is a story,
and my analogies are allegories,
mourning after the goriest morning is NOT worth storing,

blank pages turn into mythical dissipation,
and with that loud speaker you'd think he could pen down imagination,

a midnight gig playing with cosmic instrumentation,
for the humanoid race place your conscious on your invitation,

I burn churches in smirk-less lurching over merchants, munching of the serpents tongue.

High strung, in that i do not care to bare your boredom, as it butchers brilliance, in its limits, with its head in the basket.

Basking, in the glory, of the goriest of stories, chopped and divided into categories to fill fantasies with ****** up tragedies, but i would rather be, real today.

The only message conveyed, is a hole in a heart, as i fillet it in parts, and say things i may regret.

Pay to sing it forward in part, by starting a fire while engorged in the sky with the contempt of the electorate, upset with, what can never be.

We shall march with torches upon the streets of the elite, with scorched heads in hand, our blind demands met, in the onset of opulence, opinionating in its opposition, of decisions made by more driven villains deciding the dying days, in a daze of dastardly dozing, through the destruction of deities while frozen asleep.

Press the buttons, altering the functions of mass consumption to the cause, locked in the paws of alliteracy, and stalling in the calling for casualties in angry eruptions of my assumptions literally killing to get out of me.

Sadly signalling the suicide of silent stars from afar seeding the centuries of life.

Get it wrong to get it right.

Someone has to die tonite.

there’s a reason for the way my heart quivers
when you speak, when you are silent,
you are here, you are not here.  but your name stills my lips,
courses through my ebbing veins, i feel you
igniting my bones all the same.

i love with the whole of my being: give my all,
give you my everything, with the knowledge
that it might never be enough.
you may realize
i am not worth the work.  i will give you
the potential to ruin me & if you do,
every second will be precious
because this means you will have meant
to me.

what matters is this: you make me feel
like a person.  your smile never ceases
to scrub my soul soft & clean
with light & i want
all of you, your every insignificant
thought, your slightest
expressions, your seething
hurt.  give me
your goriest depths &
i will believe them beautiful.

& if you leave, when
you leave, there will be nothing to
forgive.  i will watch
your lovely, retreating form with
a smile smoldering my lips because
you happened to me,
you mattered,
& this will sometimes be difficult
to recall to memory, but i will not
forget.

you have taught me to be brave,
brazen, unabashed, unafraid.
the wanting you is worth the probability
of losing & failing.  you are worth it.  
i give you myself, i give you
my love.

the future is your fingers threading my hair.
my manic hands clutching at your t-shirt
to desperately hold you closer. your breath
becoming my breath. the deathless
entanglement
of our more-than-selves.

[i dive within the catacombs of my heart
for an answer & emerge with
youyouyou]

And now the real test begins,
sink or swim, pass or fail.
Well, it's not an exam in
the true sense of the word;
I won't receive a grade or
a score.

This is life,
at its grittiest, goriest,
glorious best.
This is death;
crawling closer with
every wheezing, and
scrawled stroke of
the pen.

I have plenty of nay-sayers,
and my God,
I wouldn't have it
any other way.
Every good drama
or piece of fiction, or
any ******* life worth
living needs strong
antagonists, and to mine
I say this:
sometimes, you have to
walk through the fire
to get to the other side.

Endure your struggles
they are your strength,
divinely arranged to show
and teach you how to
reach your blessings.
You must learn how to
get past these life lessons.
To enjoy the value and
beauty of the rose your
hands must be pierced
by its torn.
It is only when hurt by the
torn of the rose that you
know and value the
tenderness of its petal.
To get close to the
honeycomb for the
taste of honey,
you must experience
the pains from the bee sting.
Inner beauty comes only
when the heart is purified
by the harsh realities
experienced from
the goriest encounters of life.
The scar left is
the assured sign and
reminder that you survived.
Purity of purpose is reposed
to make our lives right.
Here you will discover an
uncharted paradise with
a terrifying threat beyond
your imagination.
There is something so
dangerous in true beauty.
It's hidden treasures are only
revealed in the heart.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

Paperback writer,
write a worthy
tale of a dreamer
dying in a
sleeping city.

Little novelist,
tell the stories
of life’s goriest
victories,
when irony
overcame sanity
and we suffered
the saddest defeat
at our own
oiled winner’s
seat of cold
winter stone.

A hollow helping
of hordes of harpies
seeking happiness
in grand acts of
capitalistic solidarity.

Weary weaver
unravel your yarn
and spin me
a better ending
then the one
I see coming,
because your twists
have become
too easy to predict.
Your stories usually
play out like promised
by the unartistic establishment
and I would like that to
change just a bit.

So, lets fix this ****
and turn reality
into the work of poetry, I know it can be.